


Strut Your Stuff

by DandelionLass



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandelionLass/pseuds/DandelionLass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss is working through the death of her father with the help of a new buddy. Texas Drill Team Modern AU. First chapter written for Prompts in Panem Round 7 on Tumblr, Day 1: cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strut Your Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my Beta, Lisa/myusernamehere and damndonnergirls for thinking of a Darius with heterochromia iridum.  
> Come find me on Tumblr: DandelionLass :) 
> 
> I own nothing related to the Hunger Games Series.

Strut Your Stuff

Chapter 1

We shuffle from side to side with the tempo of our song. I stumble. One of my feet slips off his boot, but he steadies me with his giant, warm hands. I remove my nose from the soft cotton of his plaid pearl snap shirt and his ever present scent of clove, cinnamon, leather, and the faintest hint of vanilla, pulling back from where I'm hugging his waist. I look up into his face. Daddy's smile reaches all the way to his eyes, making little crinkles where the lids meet. A grin splits my face, revealing the gap where my two front teeth should be. He leans down, wrapping his brawny arms around me in a hug. I feel the soft whiskers of his beard tickle my cheek where he kisses me. Here in his arms is where I feel safe and secure. In his sturdy embrace is where I feel loved. Then the truth hits me like a brick bat. That was where I felt loved. 

"Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,  
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.  
I hope you dance..."

I jerk out of my catnap, the bouquet of Old Spice still pleasantly stinging my nose. Silencing the snooze alarm on my phone, I check the time. It is 6:20 a.m., 10 minutes before I can earn five laps around the gym and a demerit for being late. I pull my letter jacket more tightly around myself to fend off the chill in my uncranked, parked car and begin scanning the front row of the parking lot for our director's sparkling red VW Beetle, "Lady Bird." There is no sign of Ms. Effie Trinket. 

Several of our "Baby Jays," the new sophomore members of the Mockingjays Varsity Drill Team, are huddling by the locked dance room door awaiting Ms. Effie and the keys. My little sister Primrose and her best friends Rue and Posy are included. Now down to four minutes, I grab my Mockingjays bag and backpack, hoisting them onto my shoulders, then lock up Daddy's rusty F150. Thankfully, the trek from the parking lot is not that bad for me anymore. 

Last year, on mornings when it wasn't raining, I had to be dropped off in front of the practice field, since I was still a Baby Jay. Those 200 yards were my literal first steps in humility, tradition, ritual, and discipline each day. And that is what the foundation of Drill Team is all about: building character. At that time, the single bulb above the dance room door and the flood light on the field house behind me were the only beacons of light on our way. 

That’s where I dropped off Prim, Rue, and Posy this morning to visit with the other Baby Jays they hadn’t seen since Dance Camp this summer. Meanwhile, I parked halfway between the school and practice field and went back to sleep for 25 blessed minutes. Next year, as a senior, I will have earned the privilege to park right up in the front row, a mere 30 feet from the door. That'll be the day. 

Mama never complained or made me feel bad about the early drop offs; she just went in with me, through the dance room, and started her work in the the nurse’s office early. She was a Mockingjay at Panem, so she is well acquainted with this sacrifice. Since I got my driver’s license last May, however, she has yet to come in before 7:15 a.m. I can't blame her. I won't lie. I probably get too excited about the three weeks after Spring Show when the Mockingjays get to come in at 7:20 a.m., the same time the rest of the student body usually does.

As I walk, the Odair brothers' navy blue, lifted Tundra pulls up. Thresh, Rye, Peeta, and Thom are riding in the bed.

"Hey, Sarge!" Johanna yolls, jumping out of the back door. She tosses a large white paper bag at me and adjusts her embroidered butt wrap as we wait for our 5'1" Captain, Annie, to gather her things. It’s mandatory for each Mockingjay to wear a wrap as part of our matching practice uniforms. Johanna's, like all the Officers’, has her rank in large letters across her butt and her name on the right front flap. 

There’s no need for her to mess with the wrap. Johanna has been trying to get with Darius since running into him at the track one morning before a twice a day football practice last summer. After their chance meeting, Johanna made it a point to run at the track during morning practice so she could get a far off glimpse of the gorgeous ginger with one green eye and one hazel eye. Despite her efforts, Darius has been oblivious. But drawing attention to one of her best assets can’t hurt her cause. Since Peeta Mellark is present, and Johanna gave me an excuse, I smooth the back of my wrap down with one hand, just in case. 

"Hey, Sarge," I volley back with much less enthusiasm and a scowl. I inventory the bag. I now see it's from Mellark’s Bakery. It contains an assortment of biscuits, croissants, scones, and other breakfast pastries. What catches my eye is the cheese bun. They have been a favorite of mine since childhood. Daddy would pick them up for us on the way out to the hunting lease. I take a bite of the cheese bun and moan in appreciation. It’s still warm. 

"Peeta makes the cheese buns," Rye pipes up. I don't miss the wink Rye slyly gives his brother. Or the way Peeta's eyes widen and the blood rushes to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Peeta sends me a timid half-smile when he notices my gaze. 

"We'll see y'all later," Annie promises, effectively breaking our trance. We all exchange our goodbyes. Annie gives Finnick a brief peck on the lips then springs off the running board. Johanna follows suit, blowing an exaggerated kiss to the group. I merely wiggle my fingers in a subtle wave as the guys drive off towards the field house. 

"You are extremely too happy and loud for this early in the morning," I scold Johanna. 

"Well, Mom had the graveyard shift at the hospital, so I got to ride with Darius. And I've had my Red Bull and Mellark’s, so sue me for being in a good mood for once." 

"Ladies..." Annie interjects, attempting to defuse the situation. But she’s interrupted by the rumble of spraying gravel then the screeching breaks of Ms. Effie's Lady Bird. 

We pause at Madge’s car as she pops out with all her bags. I hand off the Mellark’s bag to her, and she removes a buttery chocolate-almond croissant. 

"She's going to kill someone if she's not careful," Madge points out, munching. She’s right. Ms. Effie brings a whole new meaning to "Jesus, take the wheel." Her spotted slug bug, or the flash of it, is infamous around these parts. She drives two towns over, 50 miles round trip, to get her highlights and nails done. With her devil driving, however, it only takes her about 20 minutes each way. 

"In all likelihood, it would be one of the Baby Jays. They don't know to be on the look out for Lady Bird yet," Johanna adds. 

"Oh Jo, I didn't know you cared," I chuckle.

"Shh! Don't tell any of them. I have a kick ass reputation to uphold," she snaps, looking over her shoulder to survey how many Baby Jays are walking behind us. 

"They'll catch on quick," Annie assures. "Let's just hope it's not any of us," she whispers as we approach Ms. Effie bouncing to the door, keys already in hand. 

Even before the sun is up, Ms. Effie's bleach blonde hair is already perfectly curled and coifed. None of us have ever seen her without makeup on, specifically red lipstick. We suspect they are stained that color from her Kilgore Rangerette days. At 24 years old, she is openly desired by teachers and students alike. Everyone either wants to kill her, kiss her, or be her. After two years, I'm still not certain in which category I fit. 

Annie glances down at her watch. She is the only one except Ms. Effie who is approved to wear one during practices. "A minute and fifteen seconds before 6:30. She's cutting it close today." 

"Let's just get to the roll and hope there aren't more than five stragglers. I'd hate for us to have to introduce the Baby Jays to countdown kicks on the first day of the year," I offer. 

"You and me both," Annie says and Johanna and Madge agree in unison. 

Ms. Effie reaches the gaggle of at least forty girls, and they part like the Red Sea to give her access to the dance room door. Once open, our traditional door order ritual begins. It’s based on seniority, like most things in Texas Drill Team. As Captain, Annie takes her position right behind Ms. Effie, followed by our First Lieutenant Cashmere and the other Lieutenants, Glimmer and Clove. Johanna, Delly, Madge, and I go in next as Sergeants and Head Sergeant of the line. The Juniors then the Baby Jays wrap up our train; the Baby Jays holding the door is the kaboose.

In the dance room, we all sit in front of the mirrored wall with a barre. Our red lockers are to our rear. The Officers make up the front two rows of four girls. The Sergeants, Delly, Johanna, Madge, and I, are the second row. My spot is directly behind Annie since I'm Head Sergeant. The rest of the Mockingjays are seated by seniority. The line behind each Sergeant is a separate squad. These squads are helpful when distributing work amongst the team or when we practice technique and must rotate through activities. Our current sitting posture of one knee up and the opposite foot tucked behind it is part of our team discipline. It is a common habit across Texas Drill Teams. 

Annie quickly calls the roll and reads off the locker assignments. Then I head to the front and begin leading stretches to help prevent injuries. The other Sergeants and I trade this responsibility every practice. Ms. Effie is fully active during practice and stretches with us. It’s half way through this warm up when the two Baby Jays missing from roll call straggle in. 

Stretches complete, a more limber Ms. Effie comes to the front of the room to address the team. 

"Welcome! Welcome," Ms. Effie greets us. "I am so pleased to see all everyone’s shining faces this glorious Tuesday morning. As our veterans know, the Mockingjays are a sisterhood. Like a family, each one of you is an essential part of the Mockingjays' success. Especially our precious Baby Jays who are the legacy of our team. 

You all have auditioned for this prestigious team with the hope of becoming Ladies of discipline, respect, and character. As Mockingjays, we cultivate these priceless qualities daily as we work and through our many rituals and traditions. We instill discipline through rigorous practice, repetition, and adherence to our team rules. We earn and show our respect by upholding our seniority traditions and by conducting ourselves with the utmost decorum and manners. Far from just being only the long legs and pretty faces that perform at halftime for the varsity football team, you ladies play a crucial role in the community of Panem. You support the Rebel football team, and not only represent Panem High School, but act as ambassadors to our town of Panem. 

Finally, we come to character. The development of personal character is the greatest gift you will receive from our time together. If we labor in tandem to attain our set goals, your growth in diligence, patience, and perseverance will be the very tip of the arrow of your achievements." Ms. Effie then concludes her motivational speech with a bounce and clap of her hands. "Now up, up, up my Mockingjays! It's going to be a big, big, big year!" 

I can tell she is sincere and believes her words wholeheartedly. And most of the girls do agree with her, Annie, Madge, and Delly at the very least. As for me, I don't buy into all her propaganda. Yes, I enjoy the comradery and dancing for the most part. But my participation really comes down to one reason only. Daddy would have wanted me to stay on Mockingjays. He wouldn't have wanted his death last spring to uproot our lives any more than was absolutely necessary. 

"Okay ladies," Annie instructs. "Put your bags in your locker then go to the gym. Line up in squads to kick down the gym please. Stella and Cecelia, y'all both need to run five laps around the gym and have one demerit for being late. Remember ladies, the tardiness of one delays practice for everyone. Delly, please supervise them." 

"Yes, ma'am!" We all yell in unison with gusto. This is our required response to requests during active practice. It is one of the most basics of our manners that Ms. Effie mentioned. 

We speedily stuff alI our belongings in our new lockers. Then everyone files into the gym next door, following our door order again. Two Baby Jays roll in our giant speaker that includes a CD player, tape deck, and ipod dock. 

In our squads, we line up by height. We hook up to kick by raising both arms and resting our palms on the adjacent girls’ shoulders. The shortest girls, on ends of the lines, put their free hands on their waists, thumbs facing the forward. 

Suddenly, "Ah, push it" blares from the gym speakers making several girls jump. Apparently, Ms. Effie is feeling old school and thinks we need a little Salt-N-Pepa this morning. 

Annie bellows, "5,6,7,8," and our lines start moving. We step on 1 and 2, then kick on 3 and bring our feet back together on 4. This pattern is repeated on 5, 6, 7, and 8. After their laps, Stella, Cecelia, and Delly make their own line in the back. We kick across the floor until our individual line hits the basketball hoop, then we turn back and go again. 

The rest of practice is a review of the military routine we learned at dance camp during the summer. It will be performed for halftime at the Panem pre-season scrimmage this Friday. 

At 8:30 a.m., Ms. Effie dismisses us to go change out of our matching practice uniforms and get ready for class. 

Back in the dance room, Johanna promptly commandeers the radio. Her south Dallas roots start showing when she turns on Missy Elliott's "Lose Control." She dances hip hop behind the junior bench for a bit, popping, locking, rolling and doing her signature move: the robot. We cheer and laugh. The song ends and only then does Johanna join us in showering and primping. 

Our changing benches sit in front of mirrored walls. Again we are segregated by seniority, but in this case, being an Officer or Baby Jay does not matter. The senior bench is located in the hall by the back door and has the most electrical outlets. They are the first defence against unannounced visitors of the male persuasion. The junior and sophomore benches are located in the large open area where we sit in squads and take roll at the beginning of practice. 

Following her shower, Johanna unceremoniously plops down between Madge and me. 

"Jo, I bet if you did that little dance number for Darius, he'd be all over you," Madge speculates, giggling and attempting to reenact highlights from Johanna's earlier performance. 

"I don't want to scare him away! Y'all are brainless. Just get up out my biznatch," Johanna growls.

"Uh oh. Better back off Madge. Her ghetto is coming out," Delly warns. 

"What Jo?" Madge pushes. "I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump 'n grind," she sings, effectively giving the bench a lap dance. At this, our whole bench dissolves into cackles, but our little concert is cut short by the end of period bell. 

I navigate the halls toward biology. Mr. Latier is fiddling with the pull down projector screen when I enter the lab. So we are going over more than just the syllabus today. Great. Slowly I dig out a pen and notebook from the bottomless abyss that is my ratty camo backpack. I've had the thing since the first hunting trip Daddy took me on in elementary school. It’s frayed in spots and has several holes, but I can't bring myself to part with it. It reminds me so much of him. It brings me back to memories of our time together and my favorite place in the world, out in the woods of our hunting lease. 

I hear Peeta's deep guffaw and farewell to a friend before I see him enter. Science is my best subject, but with Peeta's continued presence as a distraction, failing is a real possibility. He sits down his orange backpack, takes the empty seat next to me, and smiles. My pulse instantly quickens. Yep, definitely failing. 

The syllabi are passed around. Beetee, as Mr. Latier prefers to be called, requests for everyone to pick their lab partner for the semester. I typically choose a sister teammate for group work. Cecelia is the only Mockingjay in this class. She is a junior, but being a Baby Jay, I don't know her very well. Peeta clears his throat, bringing me out of my deliberation. 

He leans over to me, and I am greeted with the masculine aroma of original Old Spice and something else. Dill, maybe?

"So, would you you like to be my lab partner for the semester?” Peeta asks almost hesitantly. A slight grin curves the corners of his mouth upwards, revealing the start of a dimple on his left cheek. He raises his eyebrows in anticipation, hiding them under a fringe of unruly flaxen waves. 

Realizing several seconds have passed with me staring at said dimple, I fumble. "Umm, sure," I say, my voice an octave higher than normal. Now it's my turn to clear my throat. "I mean, yeah. Yes. I will be your partner." 

"Stellar." 

I fear that silent staring will commence again, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, "Oh, thanks for the cheese bun this morning. I didn't know you were the one who makes them." 

"Yeah, it's me," Peeta confirms sheepishly. "We use your, I mean the, Everdeen farm goat cheese for them." I should have made the connection earlier. Though a small operation, we're the only suppliers this side of the pine curtain.

After Daddy's accident at the steel mill, Mellark’s Bakery doubled their regular milk and cheese order. Peeta made the weekly pick-ups at our farm on the seam of the county, but my chores overlapped his hurried visits. The basket of goodies he left were more than enough proof, though. Sometimes he included a jar of his mom's award winning salsa or a loaf of hearty raisin and nut sandwich bread. They always included fresh cheese buns. 

Before Daddy died, I’d never really noticed Peeta Mellark as more than a classmate. I'd known him since Kindergarten, but our family being out at the farm and him in town limited our outside interactions. At first, I wanted Prim to refuse the gifts or return them. Unfortunately, the delicious aromas and lean pantry changed my tune with little effort. 

Eventually, Peeta himself wore me down. Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there. 

I realized my feelings towards him had changed the day he included a small bouquet of Nikko blue hydrangeas in our customary weekly care package. Tessa Mellark, Peeta's mom, has had them growing in front of the bakery for at least twenty years. My mother helped her plant them soon after Leven and Tessa's wedding. The flowers for my parents’ wedding, and Daddy's funeral, were from the same shrubs. At that recognition, I could no longer ignore the underlying kindness that accompanied the groceries. 

"Hmm, I should have remembered about the cheese. Maybe that's why I love them so much." 

The smile that spreads across his face raises the apples of his cheeks until his eyes are almost slits. The following blush that blossoms across his fair, sun freckled skin is delightfully endearing. I've never been a fan of pink, but this shade is quickly growing on me. It brings out the blue bonnet shade of his eyes even more. Maybe I won't fail after all...

 

*****

 

This morning, while the rest of the team is practicing our military routine, Johanna and I are battling our way through the prop room. We need to distribute field uniforms and poms poms to the Baby Jays.

"We have got to plan a work day for the Sergeants to organize this mess," Jo declares in the shambles. 

I concur. "You think!?" I toss several more of the leather belt laces in her direction. 

Johanna picks one of the laces up to examine it. The lace makes a snapping sound when she pulls both hands apart. "Yeah, I can think of a few more intimate uses for these. If we have a handful to spare that is?"

"Who knows what's in here," I answer. "Why are all the sequin belts not together with the laces anyway?" 

"Talk to Annie and our Lieutenants," Johanna replies. "They were the Sergeants last year." 

The Sergeants are responsible for maintaining the prop room and everything stored inside. Field uniforms, pom poms, field hoops, old officer batons, and outdated team composite portraits are only some of the many hidden treasures we literally stumbled onto today. 

As Baby Jay Mommy, the Sergeant in charge of the new members' smooth integration into the Mockingjays, Delly brings each individual Baby Jay to us for her uniform fitting. She comes back by again when practice is dismissed. 

"Don't forget to sign up for your Football Buddy," Delly reminds us. "Our first poster is due tomorrow." During football season, each Mockingjay picks a player. We make them a weekly spirit poster to put on their locker for game days, and do other special little things for them. Our identities are kept a secret from the players until the Thank You party they throw us at the end of the season. I don't really care who I get.

"Thanks, Dells," Johanna responds. "I asked Madge to put me down for Darius Odair." 

"Katniss?" Delly inquires.

"I'm going," I concede. 

I scan the white piece of computer paper pinned to our bulletin board. It is littered with the typed names of all the Panem Varsity football players and the hen scratch signatures of my fellow Mockingjays. At first glance it looks like every line is full. That can't be. I look again, more intently. Every line is taken except the one next to tight end Peeta Mellark. 

"Y'all have got to be kidding me," I grouse. The majority of the juniors on the bench to my right are not paying me any attention. But, Delly, Johanna, and Madge are visibly shaking, attempting to keep straight faces. They are huddle together on the end of the bench farthest from me. Yep, there's the culprits. Rolling my eyes, I sign my name.

 

*****

 

"Katniss," he hisses near my ear as he moves over me, in me, "I'm so glad it was you." I recognize Peeta's voice at once. His spicy scent envelops me as I inhale. I'm now certain that the mysterious element to it is dill. He jerks then stills, groaning. He collapses to my side, catching his breath, half his body still covering mine. Lifting his head from the crook of my neck, he kisses my cheek. 

"I hope you dance..." 

My alarm sounds, and my eyes shoot open, greeting the dark parking lot.

"Good Lord have mercy on my soul," I whisper under my breath. It's going to be a long football season.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs: 
> 
> "I Hope You Dance" - Lee Ann Womack
> 
> "Push It" Salt -N- Pepa
> 
> "Lose Control" - Missy Elliott
> 
> "Bump N Grind" - R. Kelly


End file.
